sloganeerist

Sloganeerist hasn't been around much...

2010-06-10T12:00:00.003-05:00

Lately you can find him messing around with a couple other things, though.

Things like:

American Drink

sloganeerist(+): A Tumblr

Google.com

Perhaps he'll return here someday as well. Seems likely, as somebody will eventually have to come around and feed all these cats.

INT DAY - THE MILLENNIUM FALCON

2010-01-13T22:58:00.003-06:00

Luke: But with the blast shield down, I can’t even see. How’m I supposed to fight?

(muffled laughter)

Ben: Your eyes can, um, deceive you. Don’t trust them!

(muffled laughter)

Luke: Don’t trust my eyes?

Ben: Yeah. No. Stretch out with your feelings.

Luke: Stretch my what?

(muffled laughter)

Ben: You know. Your feelings. Just… like, feel it!

Luke: But how can…

Ben: Listen, you want to be a Jedi, don’t you?

Luke: Well, sure I do, it’s just that…

Ben: Well, this is part of that. Fighting with the blast shield down. That’s part of the deal. All Jedis do it.

(muffled laughter)

Luke: They do?

Ben: Sure they do.

Luke: This isn’t like when you guys made me eat all that food mixed up together is it? When I got sick?

Ben: Mm-m. What? No, no, this isn’t like that. That was a joke. This is real. This is a real Jedi thing. Fighting with the blast shield down. Ask anyone. You guys have all heard of that, right?

Chewbacca: Aaauurrrghh.

Han: Fighting with the blast shield down.

Ben: Fighting with the blast shield down.

Luke: Well, okay then. I’ll give it a try.

Ben: Try not. Do.

Luke: What?

Ben: Eh. Uh, nothing. Just do it. Try it. Whatever.

Luke: Okay. Turn the thing on.

Ben: Wait, wait, here. Put this on too.

(muffled laughter)

Luke: What is this? It feels like…

Ben: It’s nothing. It’s uhhh… Jedi skull… cap. You know, for Jedis.

Luke: It feels like…

Ben: It’s nothing.

Luke: It feels like ladies’ panties.

(muffled laughter)

Ben: It’s not. It’s a Jedi skull hat. Cap. Just put it on.

Luke: But…

Ben: On your head.

(muffled laughter)

Luke: Hey, are you guys laughing?

Ben: No. What? No. Never mind them. Yes. They’re laughing at you. Cos you don’t want to be a Jedi.

Luke: But I do! I do want to be a Jedi!

Ben: I don’t know. I think maybe this was a mistake.

Luke: No, Ben! I really do want to be a Jedi!

Ben: I don’t know. I just don’t know if it’s working out. What do you guys think?

Chewbacca: Aaauurrrghh.

Han: Yeah, maybe it’s not working out, kid.

Luke: Give me that Jedi skull cap! I’ll show you guys. I am a Jedi.

(muffled laughter)

Ben: Okay, buddy.

1982 NFC Championship

2009-12-25T01:22:00.001-06:00

On NFL Network (or whatever it’s called) right now. Oh, precious bedridden Baby Jeezy in a Bill Belichick Flashdance sweatshirt, it’s a Kristmist miracle. So beautiful. Your broadcast team: Vin Scully and Hank Stram — the 80s NFL TV equivalent of Dylan Thomas and Lou Costello.

When this game happened, I’d only recently turned 12 years old, and was watching on a B&W television in my bedroom. And when Dwight Clark caught that pass from Joe Montana, I hit the ceiling. Literally. With my fists. And despite the bloody knuckles, it didn’t even hurt. Cos the Cowboys had lost. Finally. Finally. Sweet glory hallelujah.

It marked the beginning of the 49ers Dynasty, and in retrospect, I’m amazingly lucky to have seen it and to remember it so vividly. But at the time, despite how much I dug Dwight Clark, Freddie Solomon, Earl Cooper and Hacksaw Reynolds, my happiness had nothing to do with San Francisco winning. Today, my real memories consist largely of that play (no doubt with the assistance of thousands of replays in the years since), and numerous players’ names (surely helped by the shoeboxes of football cards shoplifted from the neighborhood grocery store).

But mostly, I have that big golden glossy memory of God answering my prayers for the first time ever. Those Dallas cocksuckers had once again found themselves in a bigtime game, in a bigtime moment, at a bigtime juncture in NFL history—and they’d finally pulled out the dick-end of the pixie stick. It was glorious. Hitler going down in flames. Satan being cast out of heaven. Danny White watching helplessly as Ray Wershing booted the go-ahead extra point. Die Cowboys. Die, I pleaded. And they died.

Best thing? If you’re a football fan at all, five minutes of watching a game like this will confirm what you’ve silently, almost subconsciously suspected for years: every wide receiver playing then was better than every wide receiver that has played since. Graceful, focused, acrobatic, artistic. Dwight Clark’s famous catch may be have changed the course of NFL history. But Charlie Young, Drew Pearson, Tony Hill and Butch Johnson all had better catches in this game.

Go watch it, dummy. It’s Christmas.

Gimme a minute.

2009-12-10T21:58:00.001-06:00

It's almost winter. See you soon.

Other Dozens

2009-09-25T09:38:00.002-05:00

A Millworker's Dozen (17)

A Cable Guy's Dozen (31)

A Baker's Assistant's Dozen (11)

A Hobo's Dozen (2)

A Brando's Dozen (436)

Online Review Headers for Knights Inn Hotel, Murfreesboro, TN

2009-09-08T18:38:00.006-05:00

Should be called KNIGHTMARES INN!

Knights Inn service night-mare!

More liek nights in nightmare! terrible LOL

They should name this place the night mare hotel!!

Can we say 'nightmare inn'?

Welcome to my "Knights (Inn) mare."

ROACHES IN BATHROOM AVIOD KIGHTS IN MURFEEBURO!!!

Ideal for business travelers.

Horrible.

Less Intimidating Mountain Trails

2009-07-06T19:25:00.000-05:00

The Devil’s Urethra

The Devil’s Brandy Snifter

The Devil’s Super-Comfy Recliner

The Devil’s ‘92 Taurus

The Devil’s Denim Fanny Pack That Isn’t Gay

The Devil’s Taint

The Devil’s Rainbow Suspenders

The Devil’s FREE Moon Bounce

The Devil’s Suspicious-Looking Mole That’s Probably Nothing

The Devil’s Autographed First Edition Hardback Copy of John McPhee’s Encounters With the Archdruid

The Devil’s Ceramic Pig Collection

The Devil’s Back Surgery

Hopalong Devil’s Good Time Family Fun Trail (Now fully ADA-compliant)

How to Develop an Ad Campaign for Men

2009-05-14T09:02:00.004-05:00

Part I of the strategically innovative What's the Big Idea? Series

Step One
Choose one of the following:
1. Laws
2. Rules
3. Science
4. Stuff
5. Tips
6. Junk
7. Talk
8. Secrets
9. Math
10. Wisdom

Step Two
Place the word "Man" before the word you selected in Step One.

EXAMPLE:
Man Tips

Step Three
Preface the resulting phrase from Step Two with the name of your company/product, followed by the word "Presents".

EXAMPLE:
Saucy Lopez's Xtra Spicy Beer Chili Bacon on a Stick Presents: Man Tips

Step Four (Optional)
Purchase a gorilla costume.

Congratulations. You are now a fucking hack.

Twitterball

2009-05-04T18:23:00.010-05:00

Out Clause: When I started writing this, it was meant to be a medium-length-ish Tumblr post. I had no intention of spending 2000+ words and most of my Sunday on it. But it was raining, the house was empty, and the Cubs were on WGN. So here we are. This is now WAY too long for a Tumblr dashboard, especially for a piece maybe three of you will find interesting. Plus, there’s a fuck-ton of links in here, so it's actually longer than it looks when read as intended. Hell, it's probably way too long for the Internet at all.

I considered going to the trouble of creating an abridged version, at least for Tumblr, but fuck that. If you're reading this part, it probably means you made it as far as clicking the auto-feed link on your Tumblr dashboard. So if you're already thinking of bailing, I forgive you. Or if you feel guilty, but still don't wanna sort through my egocentric bombast, feigned self-deprecation, and boring personal reflection, then just read the first few sentences and skip down to the part where I make fun of Matt Leinart. Anybody can appreciate that.

Okay, inspired by bcompton’s tumblr post about badbanana’s tweet about Coco Crisp’s Twitter page, I started digging around for more pro athlete tweeps.

Needless to say I found quite a few more than the last time I took a similar interest, which was probably several months ago, and it also goes without saying that most of them suck. But there’s still some pretty interesting finds. I don’t know how many are real or fake, but the ones I’m about to mention seem pretty legit.

Yes, I also realize you could easily Google “Athletes on Twitter” and find as many lists on this same topic as there are awkward commas in a typical @THE_REAL_SHAQ tweet. But those lists weren’t made by me. After all, we could find our animal-stacking pictures on Google too. But it’s way more special when it comes from somebody who really means it.

Quick Backstory: I became a Pittsburgh Steelers fan when I was about six-years-old, and I grew up absolutely worshiping Lynn Swann. I idolized him, I emulated him, I convinced myself I was going to be him one day. I had jerseys, posters, news clippings, and cheap signature footballs. I cried when he retired in 1982, and I spent another several years afterward honing my acrobatic dive-and-catch abilities, measuring myself against #88 in hundreds of backyard (and even a few a real) football games.

As I grew older, it became obvious that my 5’ 8”, 145 lb frame and 4.9/40-yard dash time weren’t really suited for the highest level of pro sports. Eventually I found other interests — music, weed, girls, minor vandalism, writing, the usual stuff — and Swanny soon fell off my radar almost entirely. Almost, except for when I’d occasionally reference him as my “childhood hero.” Really. That’s what I’d say. “Hero.” And I meant it, too. We’d both moved on, sure. But we’d always have this special bond, even if he had no idea who I was, and probably never would.

Then, just a few years ago, Swann made this announcement. He was running for governor of Pennsylvania. As a Republican. I couldn’t bear to research the news for further details. So I ignored it, assuming he had heroically set forth to singlehandedly restore honor and common sense to the GOP. Swann won the Republican nomination, but lost the election. A year or two later he flirted with a run at the House of Representatives, and when that didn’t work out, he promptly disappeared again. I pretended it had all been a weird dream.

Until he reappeared in 2008, this time to announce his endorsement of John McCain in the ‘08 presidential election. This time I was devastated.

I’m not exaggerating when I say this is a guy who literally helped shape who I thought I was. You know that genuine but elusive wash of emotion you get whenever you see your father? The one that’s so instant and tangible it actually makes you think, “Goddamn. This is downright biological.” It’s different for everyone, I assume. For me it’s a potent cocktail of pride, shame, love, resentment, curiosity, and any number of other contradictory feelings. But at the root of it all is a deep, deep feeling of something not unlike homesickness. Other than my dad, there’s two people who make me feel that way at first sight. One is David Letterman, and the other is Lynn Swann. I’ve always reckoned it was because those two were every bit as responsible for raising me as my father was. Probably more so.

As it stands now, I have no feelings for Lynn Swann one way or another. That’s not his fault, of course. He is who he is. I simply realized that despite spending the better part of my youth trying to be him, I never knew who “he” really was.

I could go on, but I guess it’s obvious where I’m headed with this. We don’t know these people. At all. I think that’s why I find the phenomenon of pro athletes on Twitter so utterly fascinating. I’ve spent the better part of 38 years watching sports. And while I love the games themselves, it’s the players that have always interested me. The ones we like and don’t like, for whatever shallow reasons we can glean from TV broadcasts, or batting stance mechanics, or free throw shooting rituals, or the occasional guarded magazine interview. I despised Bengals’ QB Ken Anderson because of his mustache and uncool facemask. I liked Joe Montana because my grandpa liked him. Other than the odd paragraph on the back of a guy’s trading card, these few little details were all I had to go on. The number of times I’ve uttered phrases like “Man, I love me some Terry Mulholland,” or “Arrrgh, I hate Cliff Branch,” or “I dunno, I think Shawn Kemp gets a bad rap,” is unfathomable. The Swann thing helped me realize, way later than I should have, that I hadn’t just been fabricating most of my opinions about these guys. I’ve fabricated all of my opinions about them, ever since the first time I sat down in front of a live broadcast.

Now here’s Twitter. It doesn’t fix any of this. But what it does is provide us with the most real, most unpolished lens through which we’ve ever been able to view these people. I’m not saying it gives us a 100% accurate portrait of what it’s like to be, or even hang out with Steve Nash or Nick Swisher. But unlike real life, it actually seems kind of like… real life. There are no scripted sound bytes or worn out cliches. At least, not yet. It's just too new. Sure, like regular tweeps, there are tons of pro athletes who don’t know what the hell they’re doing. There are The Noobs, like the White Sox’ Chris Getz, The Wet Blankets, like the Chargers’ yawn-inducing Shawn Merriman, The Chronic Chat Roomers, like yappy San Antonio Spur Fabricio Oberto (who, incidentally, is the only one I’m aware of who has actually retweeted Guy Kawasaki), and The I’m-Just-Here-for-the-Free-Marketing types, like the Falcons’ Warrick Dunn.

But if you like the NBA at all, try telling me this tweet from the Clippers’ Baron Davis doesn’t make you raise a pleasantly surprised eyebrow, or that this one and this one don’t provide more insight into his personality than twenty locker room interviews ever could. Right down to his “Beware of the Beard!!!” bio, Davis seem like a fun guy who doesn’t take himself too seriously.

The boxscore tells me that the Raptors’ Chris Bosh can haul down 12 boards a night. I also know he has cool hair, and I suppose I might have read someplace that he has his own online video channel. But where else but Twitter can I get Bosh’s instantaneous, unedited reaction to meeting a legend at the 2009 All-Star game? Or better yet, learn that he’s the kind of dude who can’t stand to let a typo slide? In one tweet, he just endeared himself to me. Chris Bosh cares about fucking typos? “Shit. That’s all you had to say.”

In 2008, after he failed to secure the closer’s job and was relegated to middle relief, Rangers pitcher C.J. Wilson was just another a wasted pick in my fantasy baseball draft. Now, he’s a certified Twitter nerd, good for 15-20 tweets a day, the best of which have nothing to do with baseball. Wilson is also responsible for one of my favorite athlete/fan Twitter exchanges of all time. In response to this passive-aggressively smarmy question about his MLB promo photo, Wilson responded with the Twitter equivalent of a 95mph fastball in the ear.

This shit is priceless. With a few rare exceptions, the boilerplate, cookiecutter athlete-speak doesn’t exist. There’s nobody “taking it one tweet at a time.” There’s no one giving the other tweeters “all the credit in the world.” No bullshit labels like “he’s a throwback tweeter,” or “he’s the kind of tweeter you can’t watch film on.” These guys are totally open here. Why? Because no one’s making them do it. No one’s plunging a mic in their faces, or setting a tape recorder on the table, or blinding them with the lights from a TV camera, five seconds after a tough loss. It’s all unprompted, unscripted, and unrehearsed. Those precise qualities are what we love most about sports. But until now, we’ve never really gotten to see those same qualities in the athletes themselves. There’s always something between us and them. A director, a reporter, a writer, an agent.

But on Twitter, it’s totally different. They choose the words. They choose the pictures. They’re the writers, the art directors and the editors. Just like us. It’s amazing. Reading those Coco Crisp tweets made me positively giddy. It’s like a fog lifting between us and them. I just hope it lasts. I suspect there’s already a team of rabid publicists and PR people working around the clock, trying to figure out how best to fuck it up. But for now, I can’t get enough. And I can’t help but wonder how different things would’ve been if Lynn Swann had had a Twitter account thirty years ago, and whether I would’ve followed @richardnixon just because he did. Or whether I would have ended up being a huge Ken Anderson fan.

Anyway, here are three of my favorite athlete tweeps, one from each of the big three sports. As you’ll see, I like them each for very different reasons, and each to the point that I’ve added them to my Following list. (Well, two of them. The other one is interesting more in a car crash kind of way. But I’ll be checking back in on him.)

Matt Leinart, Quarterback, NFL Arizona Cardinals, @MattLeinart
The former 10th overall draft pick and would-be star lost his job when Kurt Warner returned from the grave to lead the Cards to the Super Bowl in 2008-09. For his part, Leinart seemed all “just happy to be here, brah” when he started tweeting this past January in the week leading up to the big game. But as kickoff approached, his tweets took a decidedly disturbing turn. One football game and one mysterious cliffhanger later, Leinart was gone. Although he hung around less than a week and posted only 13 times, his brief stay in the Twitterverse did yield this 1 2 3 punch of comedy gold.

Brian Cardinal, Forward, NBA Minnesota Timberwolves, @Cardinal_Brian
On its surface, The Custodian’s Twitter stream is about as impressive as his career PPG average. But I don’t care. Even before his stint with my hometown Memphis Grizz, I was a huge B.C. fan. What’s not to love about a prematurely balding white guy with bad knees and an 8-inch vertical leap, whose only discernible natural talent is his ability to withstand multiple third-degree floorburns? In fact, I’ve had a man crush on him since I saw his Purdue Boilermakers play this game in person, back in the 1997 NCAA Tourney. And you have to love the guy’s humility. Check out how this dick tries to get a rise out of him. Then watch how Cardinal, who could have pointed out his multimillion-dollar contact, linked to a wiki entry about his 10+ year NBA career, or simply ignored the guy, instead issues a beautifully restrained, self-deprecating, yet subtle point-making response. Clearly, this is a guy who doesn’t hold any illusions about his modest role as a basketball player. Reading posts like this, you almost get the sense that even he has to occasionally resist the urge to make an easy Brian Cardinal joke. In all, his whole Twitter existence is like a microcosm of his hoops career. It doesn’t look like much in the boxscore, but if you really watch what he’s doing out there, it all serves a purpose. And if all that isn’t enough to make you a fan, check this out. That’s right. His avatar shot is from Wrigley Field.

Barry Zito, Pitcher, MLB San Francisco Giants, @BarryZito
Famous as much for his colorful personality as his curveball, the former Cy Young winner, current overpaid San Francisco Giant, and amateur acoustic rocker/Zen Master drops eclectic musical references like @fakeweiler drops lady-trou. Just a few clicks on the More button reveal the dude’s into T-Rex, Al Jarreau, The Beatles, Wynton Marsalis, Wilco, Pat Matheny, Stevie Wonder and at least a dozen more surprisingly respectable artists. Go down even further and you’ll find fewer @ replies and more classic California-dude gems, as Barry meditates on spirituality, puzzles over big relationship questions, contemplates the mystical forces of Twitter addiction and dispenses pure, Favrd-worthy snark. For all his awesomeness, the most interesting thing I find is that, despite his reputation as an idiosyncratic goofball, Zito just seems like a smart, interesting, relatively normal creative-type who’s into music, can form and communicate coherent thoughts, and isn’t a fucking meathead. I guess in a major league clubhouse, that’s more than enough to get you labeled a freak. Here on Twitter, it’s enough to get me to follow you. Provided you tweet about baseball every now and then.

Progressively Worse Restaurant Industry Masturbation Euphemisms

2009-03-19T21:55:00.009-05:00

Working the old meat station
Hand-garnishing the old lamb sausage
Deveining the old tiger prawn
Tenderizing the old flank steak
Seating the old one-top
Drizzling the old heirloom tomatoes with a nice balsamic reduction
Slightly overcooking the old tube pasta
Pushing the old seafood special
Buying weed from the old busboy
Masturbating in the old minestrone
Quitting

Being a Parent Is Awesome

2009-03-08T16:10:00.007-05:00

My sixteen-year-old is spending her spring break in Nashville with her softball team, playing in the first of what will be another season full of life-consuming out-of-town tournaments. Since it's such a big trip, and gaggles of stay-at-home moms are tagging along for the week, I pretty much get a free pass until next weekend, when I'll make the drive up to catch the last day or two of games. In other words, the teen is pretty much on her own. All week. (This isn’t a bad thing. I trust the kid. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I don’t trust the kid, but I trust the kid. You know what I mean? No. You probably don’t. But if you have young kids, you’ll understand soon enough.)

The team played a one-day, five-game warmup tournament yesterday, so they have their whole day free today before the big, weeklong tourney cranks up Monday morning. I last spoke to my daughter around bedtime last night, when she was already lamenting what she assumed would be a Sunday wasted at some suburban Nashville mall, watching a busload of rich-girl teammates try on shoes and spritz each other with expensive perfume. So when she texted me this morning saying they were having breakfast and then heading to the Adventure Science Center, I could tell she was pumped. It’s a rare sixteen-year-old private school girl who prefers the nerdy gadgetry of a science museum to a 1000th trip to Hollister or Abercrombie, but then, this is a rare kid. I’m lucky that way.

Anyway, about an hour later she sent me another text, this one in the form of a three-line dialogue. Below are her exact, unedited (except for the coach's name) words.

Coach Riley: "Don't break anything in the science museum."

Me: "It's impossible to create or destroy matter."

Everyone: (Silence)

I am fucking floored.

It's all here, people. The lightning wit. The “I’m surrounded by idiots” realization. The unspoken but implied *sigh* of quiet, artistic isolation. All laid beautifully bare by the Xacto-knife precision with which she recounts the story. Further, there’s an understanding of the subject matter, without which, the joke wouldn’t even be possible.

In a word, it’s brilliant. And not only did her audience fail to get it, they failed to get it on like five levels.

Now, as self-anointed class clown my daughter is no stranger to the blank-stare-inducing wisecrack. She regularly tells me stories about how she made some joke in class that no one laughed at. Then she’ll tell me the joke. Fucking hilarious. Every time. So this raises a really interesting thought. It’s not just that her audience failed to get it. It's that she knew they’d fail to get it, and went ahead with it anyway. To instantly call-up "It's impossible to create or destroy matter" in that particular situation takes serious chops. But to actually say it out loud, as a sophomore on the varsity team, surrounded by mostly juniors, seniors, coaches and parents, knowing full well you’re gonna hear crickets? That takes balls.

Which I guess leads me to something of an unintended point.

Yes, it’s frustrating, maddening, and even torturous when your wit is wasted on the witless. But sometimes there’s a great comfort in knowing you’re on your own.

So while the joke was lost on my daughter’s audience, it’s clear from her text that the lesson wasn’t lost on her. And that’s what makes me proud. That despite all my faults as a parent, and there are many, I’ve still somehow managed to teach my kid the most important lesson I could. Relish your different-ness, and celebrate the fact that you aren’t like most people. Because most people are really, really fucking lame.

Viet Hoa Market FAQ

2009-02-21T15:07:00.004-06:00

Why do you always make us come in here?
What in God’s name is that smell?
Is this supposed to be candy?
Can we just get the Sriracha and go?
Didn’t we leave the car right here?
Call 9-1-1.

Mysterious Ways in Which the Lord Works (on McSweeney's)

2009-01-08T21:14:00.004-06:00

Hey. Wow.

It looks like McSweeney's done published up something I did.

I haven't really mentioned it before, but they have some other stuff of mine. I wanted to tell you about it, but I could never find the right moment, and you were always so drunk and hitty.

Anyway, here's everything. (Please, not in the face.)

Of course, it all began with this retarded bit of plagiarism.

Which led to this certain-to-never-become-dated classic.

Which naturally only encouraged more stupidity.

Until finally, my little run peaked with this idiotic gem, which later appeared in printed form in McSweeney's humor anthology thing.

That scared me. It scared me a lot. One of two things were possible:
A) I was becoming a real writer, or more likely,
B) I was in way over my head next to the likes of John Moe, John Hodgman, Michael Ian Black and a dozen other real-real writers.

The answer was pretty clear to me. You didn't have to spell it out. I never submitted anything to anyone in any form ever again.

Until this.

I don't know why I did it. I think I just decided not to care anymore. Or I got distracted and forgot what a hack I am. Or I was drunk.

All I know is this: I don't care anymore if you think I suck.

Well, okay, I do.

But it isn't stopping me anymore. Being stupid is too much fun. Almost as much fun as being drunk.

Things Said By Guys Who Play Chess for Hours in Coffee Shops Or Things Said By People Who Talk Too Much During Sex

2008-12-14T12:45:00.009-06:00

Part III of the scientifically implausible Blogger on the Rove Series

“I guess I pretty much have to decide which one to give you.”

“Interesting.”

“I don’t know if I like this position right now.”

“That was one of the hardest falls I’ve ever had.”

“Ewww.”

"Well, you're getting a lot of yardage out of this, that's for sure."

"I knew this knight would come back to haunt me."

“At first I didn’t know what you were going for there, but now I see.”

“I get the distinct feeling I’ve fallen into a trap.”

“Ouch.”

"That's probably not going to be good there."

“Getting out of this is gonna take some work.”

“That’s a pretty standard strategy actually.”

“Do you want a refill?”

“Yeah, I realized I’d made a mistake the minute I took my hand off.”

“You win.”

(Faint, Distant Whooshing Sound...)

2008-12-09T23:30:00.000-06:00

Don't you worry, Slogo-fans.
Daddy's working on something nice that's sure to please the Sebastian Junger fan in ya. You'll see what I mean. Maybe.

Til then, kill some time with this bloke. It's a 1976 interview with ELO's Jeff Lynne from the British music show Old Grey Whistle Test. (Look it up on youtube. Please.)

Maybe the most amazing part is seeing Lynne himself without his hyper-absurd giant afro, and even giant-er bags under his eyes. Enjoy.

WARNING: You'll be doing this voice for the rest of the day.

Was that Genesis or Straight Up Phil Collins?

2008-11-01T13:01:00.005-05:00

Part 5 of the inexplicably catchy Stereo Yeah-Yeah Series
plus, also, additionally...
Part 2 of the longingly reminiscent Class of '89 Series

I have this theory, see. It goes like this:

Unless you're the kind of person who regularly enjoys (or, Christ forbid, has even purchased) the post-Gabriel studio droppings of prog-to-poppers Genesis, there's simply no surefire way to aurally separate their songs from the just-as-awful solo work of widowpeaked wankdoctor Phil Collins. It's like Boston Terrier and Yorkie turds. Virtually indistinguishable by all but a select few shit experts.

Are you getting the point? No one can tell them apart. No one. And I'm out to prove it.

With this som'bitch right c'here:

That's right, ladies. It's the world's (presumably) first ever Was that Genesis or Straight Up Phil Collins? quiz. And you can't ace it.

Yeah, sure, you'll luck into a half-dozen correct answers. You might even be guilty of KNOWING a few. But you won't get them all. You can't get them all. You can't even get an A.

Go ahead. Download the fucker here and see for yourself. (Yes, it's a PDF. Welcome to Web 1.8.2.)

Just do me a favor. I didn't paste a big, wonky watermark across it or anything. (I guess I was hoping its absence might add an ironic note of integrity to the thing given its self-blowing Top 40 subject matter.) So maybe send your groovy kind of lovin' pals here to download it for themselves. I'd at least like a click out of the deal.

Or not. Whatever. But if you do forward it as an attachment, just mention me in there somewhere. Just say something like, "OMG, this guy is like a fucking genius and a rock music expert rolled into one. Check out what he's done!!!"

The extra exclamation points aren't necessary. It's your email, so customize.

Answer sheet coming soon, probably later today as a stick-on to this very post, after which I hope you'll consider adding your scores to the Comments section where they may be properly analyzed and ridiculed.

UPDATE:
The ANSWER KEY is here!

Amazing Sidenote
There is no other consistently popular band/solo artist pair that exhibits this same phenomenon. Not one.

Sting/The Police?
Any casual listener can discern Copeland & Summers' manic rock genius from that jazzy shite Sting crapped out in subsequent years.

Stevie Nicks/Fleetwood Mac?
That's easy. Do you hear Tom Petty singing? Then it wasn't Stevie's solo work, was it?

Pete Townshend/The Who?
Get the hell off my blog.

Discuss.

While You're Waiting, Why Not Enjoy Some Nice Refreshments?

2008-10-21T09:13:00.003-05:00

I've been away for awhile. I may be away awhile longer. But I'll be back. At that time, there will be so much awesomeness.

Until then, a different kind of awesomeness, courtesy of my good friend, writer/director/musician/presidential trivia buff C. Scott McCoy.

Yes, it's The New Intruders' already much talked about "Fighting Machines" video, which debuted at Indie Memphis this past weekend. Please enjoy it in moderation.

New Intruders - "Fighting Machines" from oddly buoyant on Vimeo.

Speechless

2008-09-14T11:15:00.008-05:00

Note: I just did a tumblr on this, but after taking a second look, I decided to add it here as well. I'm still getting a feel for how to separate Stuff for Over There, and Stuff I Feel Okay About Putting Here. Work with me.

Back in February I had a chance to help out my wife’s uncle (my Uncle in-law?) Rob by recording and editing the audio for a reading of his short story, Wordless for Skive Magazine.

Rob is a fellow Memphian, a Cooper-Younger, a schooled naturalist and a superb writer (and, as you’ll hear, a fine reader despite his apprehension about it) whose work can be found in literary journals both here and abroad. (Numerous pieces from his collection of Vietnam stories, Nam: Things That Weren’t True and Other Stories, have recently been published in journals in both the UK and Australia.)

More recently, he received notice that The Connecticut Review had accepted one of his stories for print in fall 2009. They accept very few authors, many of them Pulitzer Prize winners. You’d think his credentials would make Thanksgiving a rather intimidating affair for little old me. But fortunately, he’s as modest as he is brilliant.

Anyway, I reckon my knowledge of how to get decent sound out of a cheap headphone mic and GarageBand could be better, but this wonderful story certainly couldn’t.

Wordless by Robert McGowan (via dabble778)

If you can read this...

2008-09-14T09:44:00.005-05:00

Then I'm not a complete idiot. Check out the new URL.

www.sloganeerist.com

Hell, yes. I'm a branded man. So don't forget to update your bookmarks, your links, your favorites and your delicious-es accordingly.

Or, wait. Maybe you don't have to update anything. Maybe you're already here. In which case: SCARY.

Related
I still can't figure out how to make sloganeerist.com (sans "www") point to the same place, but I'm working on it. I changed a bunch of random numbers to some other random numbers based on the year-old message board advice of people I don't know who were working under completely different circumstances, so I really can't understand what the problem is. Perhaps if I just ignore it, like that brown spot under my lip, it'll just resolve itself eventually. Fingers crossed.

And if anyone knows how to change that little icon in the address bar to something hilarious, I'm listening.

Talk to you soon...
jtd

Test Market-Only Girl Scout Cookie Varieties

2008-09-11T17:24:00.003-05:00

Turncoats
Barnacles
Benchwarmers
Double Chocolate Chip Fudge with Real Metal Shavings
Yammers
Reacharounds

Angry Czeck for President

2008-09-09T23:11:00.005-05:00

Oh, here's something. Did I mention this? I can't remember. I know this dude who's running for president. I told you that, right?

Yeah. It's been a month since my agitated pal The Angry Czeck—the author behind perhaps the only politically slanted blog in the Interworld I can stand to read without tearing my own face off—announced his candidacy for President of the United States. You’ve probably seen his link down there on the side somewhere. (Yeah, we link to each other. In obscure blogger circles, that’s as close as any of us ever gets to political back-scratching.)

Now I know you haven't heard his name bandied about on your CNNs, your MSNBCs, your CSPANs, your HGTVs—yet. But if I know Angry Czeck, he's just biding his time, waiting for the right moment to launch a full-frontal, all-senses onslaught on the mainstream media. It'll probably start out with a couple of Facebook videos, but it won’t be long before his brutal, rancorous brand of American Patriotism is scoring major airtime.

I'm not yet fully schooled on the Angry Party's stances on every issue. But I can assure you of one thing: On the issue of Anger, the Czeck's soapbox doesn't wobble. When he says angry, he means Angry. Like acidic alien venom in your hippie eyes Angry. Like 8 or 10 more kicks to the head even after you’ve passed out from the pain Angry. The man makes Mike Gravel look like Betty Crocker. He's angry, see.
These men recently paid money to watch Norm McDonald perform a live comedy routine. Angry Czeck is angrier than they are.

Anyway, be on the lookout for this kid. Do I think he’d make a good president? Hell, I don’t care. I’m just jockeying for some cushy, lucrative and essentially meaningless senior staff appointment in the event that he actually pulls this thing off. Like, I dunno, Director of something. Homeland Security or some crap. I’m more than under-qualified enough.

If nothing else, doesn't the man who wrote this deserve at least a look for Most Powerful Man in the World? I say yes. Angrily, yes.

Platinum Plus Action Auction

2008-09-09T00:32:00.006-05:00

Thanks to (redacted) for finding this at-first-mildly-amusing, then-kind-of-gross, then-suddenly-really-fucking-gross, then-finally-really-funny auction page from our former Memphis neighbors at Platinum Plus.

Closed down for nearly two years now following the indictment of owner Frank Lunati, Platinum Plus was pretty much the, uh, Platinum Plus of Memphis strip joints. It was a shame to see it go, if only as a drunken late night go-to joke. (“Whooooo’s going to Platinum, motherfuckers?! Yeeeeeahhhhhh!!”) So to have the auction, scheduled for 10am this Thursday, NOW? I just can’t understand why you’d reopen old wounds.

I mean, who among us can help but feel a sentimental pluck at the old bonerstrings at the sight of the brass cage, now dull and tarnished from years of tit-free neglect? And what about those ghostly cases of outdated Corona, now never to be shaken up and sprayed upon the twisted, sagging breasts of a 41-year-old mother of three?

Those Fed bastards are even auctioning the stage. Is nothing sacred? When does the Historic Preservation Society step up to the plate? Come on. If watching your bachelor buddies - shirtless and on all fours - being dogwalked by topless women around a slab of oily formica to the tune of “You Give Love a Bad Name” doesn’t constitute historical significance, I don’t know what the fuck does.

Frankly, it makes me a little misty eyed. Misty eyed and, I’m not ashamed to say it, a bit nauseus. IN A GOOD WAY. After all, what kind of heartless bastard could look at such hauntingly beautiful images and not feel that familiar twinge in his stomach?

And with it, be instantly transported back to that very same room, in that very same stained polyester chair, on that very same night when he realized with great surprise and wonder that, in the right context, a vagina can actually make you to vomit?

(ps. Is that... is... is that a... a... a RIDING CROP?)

Let the Additional Shirking Begin

2008-08-24T13:02:00.003-05:00

A note from the Sloganeerist, who is apparently - I know, I know - a real person.

As a huge fan of Sloganeerist, you've no doubt noticed an increasing number of posts that really don't fit. Like the last one.

I'm referring to those posts that, rather than being about general nonsense, are about very specific and personal nonsense. You didn't notice that? Well, go look then. Cos it's true.

I always sort of intended this weblog to be like that backyard deck I could never afford. (Jesus, here come the metaphors.) A place where I could sit in an expensive adirondack chair, open my box of absurdity, and talk about worldly, non-author-specific curiosities like pants, glass beakers, Buick Skylarks and cricket.

I could remark to no one in particular about how funny it is that tree bark inexplicably reminds me of James Coburn, then go on to write 800 more words on the topic. I could basically do the kind of stupid stuff you've gotten used to seeing here over the past several months.

And even if no one read it, at least I'd be writing, you know? And writing is good for you. It was all so Utopian.

Lately I've encountered two problems with this plan.
1. I don't have time to build a deck, let alone hang out on one all day.
2. This kind of thinking hurts my brain.

Enter sloganeerist (+).

Now don't go killing your Sloganeerist RSS feed or anything. This is just a supplementary tumblr (see clever, markety *plus* sign in name), and pretty self explanatory.

I just needed a place to put all these other things I wanna share with nobody. Things like youtube videos and links to cool websites and personal observations that don't aspire to change society's views on puppetry. Besides, I just feel increasingly dumb pretending to be this enigmatic freak with no hometown, no family, no favorite movies, and no baseball card collection. I wanna do some normal shit, too.

Make no mistake, I'll still talk about boner gels, homeless people and frozen yogurt. Just not all in the same sentence.

Later,
jtd

True Stories of Real Dialogue

2008-08-20T21:52:00.007-05:00

Part I of the True Stories of Real Dialogue Series

Wife: Do you think I look like Sarah Gilbert?

Me: What?

Wife: Do you think I look like Sarah Gilbert?

Me: Who is...

Wife: She's...

(Ridiculously long pause)

Me: What? Who is Sarah Gilbert?

Wife: She's...

Me: From Little House on the Prairie?

Wife: No. That's...

(pause)

Wife: That's Melissa Gilbert.

Me: Oh, right. So... so, who's Sarah Gilbert?

Wife: She's...

Me: ...?

Wife: She's that ugly one on Roseanne.

Me: The one that turned out gay?

Wife: Yeah. My mom used to tell me I looked like her. That I was JUST like her.

Me: (typing something)

Wife: Sarah Gilbert.

Me: Oh, yeah. Wow. You don't look anything like Sarah Gilbert. Like... not even remotely like Sarah Gilbert.

Wife: (Smiles, bats eyes)

Fifteen Intra-office Earthquake Reminders

2008-07-29T17:55:00.016-05:00

Part I of the innovatively turnkey Take My Memo, Please Series

1. Forward all calls to Voicemail. Switch to outgoing message #4 (Earthquake).
2. If there are clients in the building, apologize for earthquake.
3. Avoid spills by waiting until after earthquake has subsided to refill coffee or other personal beverages.
4. Print and complete Earthquake Form H6345-A. Give to Julie.
5. Go ahead and plan on working through lunch.
6. Limit personal, non-client phone calls to earthquake and earthquake-related topics.
7. Throughout earthquake, address coworkers in calm, professional tone.
8. Perform Save As on open files. Add "_then_an_earthquake_happened_" to file names.
9. When determining whether or not a meeting should be rescheduled, ask yourself, "Can it wait until after the earthquake?" Use best judgment.
10. Travel reimbursement slips (with receipts!) should be turned in to Accounting no later that 3pm on earthquake day.
11. All personal screaming should be kept to a reasonable volume.
12. No pets of any kind are permitted on property during earthquake.
13. If earthquake causes ceiling to fall and crush computer, try rebooting before notifying Workstation Administrator.
14. Be wary of sales calls during earthquake, especially ones with offers that seem "too good to be true."
15. Absolutely no faxing.

Look at this place. It's so macro.

2008-07-21T15:17:00.002-05:00

I'm going to straighten up and fly right. I swear.

Things I'm Not Blogging About

2008-06-17T21:29:00.009-05:00

Okay, I know.

Okay?

I know.

It's been well over a week since I've offered you any thoughtful content. Yes, I've noticed, too. And I hate it. I hate it more than I hate beets. I hate it more than other things, too. A few of those things are:

- Cafe Ole'
- White people who say they hate white people who talk like black people
- Bad scary dreams
- AutoZone radio spots
- Email reminders about unimportant dates, followed by second emails because the person forgot to include the date
- People who argue with no one that Pau Gasol "isn't a superstar"*
- Margaritaville

Margaritaville, people. Do you understand how much fucking hate that is?

Point is, I do wanna blog for you. It's just that summer is so awesome. Weeeeeeee, summer! There's so much fun to be had. So many things you've waited all winter to do. Like work late from home. Like drive your kid to and from sporting events and practices for those sporting events. Like not mow the lawn. Repeatedly. Like sit in your chair drinking Pilsner Urquell and falling asleep to The Darjeeling Limited. I mean, seriously. Who has time for blogging?

I'll tell you who. My buddy, Zac.

Just over a year ago, Zac's daughter Anna -- a beautiful four-year-old who gives away flower stickers like they're nothing, and who always knows what kind of beer to bring you -- was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Thanks to the doctors at LeBonheur, it's now gone.

I can't begin to imagine how simultaneously frightening and frustrating the whole experience must've been for Zac and his wife, Amy. But I know this: I could not have made it through and gone on to do what Zac and his family are about to do.

Tomorrow, Zac and Anna fly to Capitol Hill to tell Anna's story, and to talk about the irreplaceable resource that is LeBonheur Children's Hosptal. In the meantime and throughout the trip, Zac is blogging about the entire experience.

And frankly, I have absolutely no idea how.

But I hope you'll take advantage and go find some inspiration there. If nothing else, maybe it'll make you feel thankful for your sad little excuses for not blogging. It does me. I'm even thinking of mowing the lawn. I bet Zac's is mowed.

More soon.
jtd

*Dear Those People,
No shit.
Love,
Everyone Else

Evaluating the Lower NBA Draft Prospects

2008-05-30T10:26:00.007-05:00

Part III of the barely eked-out Athletic Supporter Series

Jeff Doyle, Assistant Manager, Denny's, PG
Received very little press after missing entire '07 campaign with smoker's asthma. Also missed a dozen games in 2006 during lengthy divorce and quickly fell off many scouts’ radar while “dealing with that shit.” Not adept at scoring either inside or outside, and often struggles to keep from dozing off at daughter's soccer games. Poor one-on-one defender whose oddly popular, self-deprecating blog focuses largely on dreary observations about dogs, half-assed local environmental causes, and his inability to "find any good Oolong in this fucking town." Started a Flickr page last November, but never really saw it through.
Projected Team: Miami Heat

Janet Quarles, Shopping Cart Lady, Poplar Ave. at Dunlap, PG
Ability to finish fastbreak at the basket improved in '07, as did ability to wear dozens of layers of knitted wool clothing without succumbing to massive heat stroke. A vocal leader, Quarles won’t come without baggage, not to mention numerous cans, empty prescription bottles, the odd squirrel carcass, and a perfectly salvageable stylus from a 1983 Technics turntable. Given time to develop, experts see both her long-range jumper and knack for incoherently haranguing motorists blossoming. Syphilitic.
Projected Team: Portland Trailblazers

Steve Henderson, Night Security, Baskin-Robbins, SF
Often drawing comparisons to an older, herpes-afflicted Melvin Ely, Henderson is gifted at creating his own shot off the dribble. And by "shot," I mean "homemade bong," and by "off the dribble," I mean "out of a used Fram oil filter from a 1979 Plymouth Roadrunner." Uses impressive basketball I.Q. to name members of the '91 Knicks when hitting on underage store employees during slow work periods. Often cries when drunk.
Projected Team: L.A. Clippers

Nikola Tesla, Inventor, SG
Led Austrian team to fourteen consecutive 0-33 seasons before graduating to/inventing broadcast booth. Years prior to becoming "Patron Saint of Electricity," earned nickname "Herr Slamassitude" for his electrifying dunks and large collection of well turned-out waistcoats. Wears live cats as shower shoes. Died in the forties, but could be worth a late-round flyer for the team looking to build depth without adding to longterm financial burden.
Projected Team: Memphis Grizzlies

Wile E. Coyote, Fictional Cartoon Animal, PF
Outstanding raw athlete with an array of low-post moves to complement excellent passing skills. Entering '08 campaign, was projected as a top-two pick before falling 1000 feet and shattering both fibulae, both knees, back, neck, skull, pelvis, both arms, both ankles, sternum, wrists and left collarbone. Labeled injury prone early in career, but always seems to bounce back. Tends to lose focus around rock formations. Sometimes unfairly compared to Brad Miller.
Projected Team: Phoenix Suns

Jethro Tull, Prog Rock Group, PF/C
Valuable role player with a nonstop motor for pursuing loose rebounds, drawing offensive fouls on the block, and rocking the fuck out. Size-wise, a tweener who defends well in the paint, but has problems getting caught-up in the pick & roll due to inordinate number of flowing, gay scarves. Talks about wizards a lot, but should grow out of that with time. Work ethic questioned by some scouts. HDL count worries the higher-ups.
Projected Team: Detroit Pistons

Declined Wiki-How Submissions

2008-05-25T23:11:00.000-05:00

Part I of the mutually maximized Web 2.0 Series

How to Make Shoelaces from Damp Notebook Paper
How to Explain Gout to a Two-Year Old
How to Field Dress a Macaque
How to Get Totally High off Transmission Fluid
How to Talk About Sushi on Your Facebook Page
How to Act Like You Care about Sustainable Agriculture
How to Eat More Butter
How to Teach Advanced Streamside Etymology to a Lebanese Waiter
How to Murder a Hippie without Getting Any on You
How to Predict AFC Football Scores Using Dan Fouts’ Spleen
How to Sing Unintelligibly
How to Write Technical Instructions

Amenities at the Holiday Inn Express in London, KY that Could Use More Focus in Future Marketing Materials

2008-05-09T18:56:00.002-05:00

Part I of the redeyed and weary Trip Advice-er Series

- Convenient interstate access
- 100% Korean linens, duvet
- Free in-room drapes
- Easy-to-locate AC units with “On” warning
- Just steps from historic Collision Repair Row
- Knowledgeable, elderly staff
- Daily housekeeping with smoker’s cough
- Ample offsite meeting space
- Functioning remote control, no, wait, non-functioning
- 24-hour, in-room seating
- Complimentary indifference
- Room keys (On request)

Review of a Puppet Show I Have Not Seen

2008-04-26T13:12:00.022-05:00

Tom Knight’s The Garbage Monster

One of a handful of young artists to emerge from Ithaca's 1968 Sockhead Scene, Tom Knight once commanded the attention of a nation with his twisted, sugarcoated vision of a world in which puppet and man shared a deep spiritual bond. Blithely thrusting his sociopolitical sword at the rosy-fleshed psyche of the American Preschool Machine, Knight was an artist who made his name - and his money - doing one thing better than anyone: pushing puppet boundaries. Here's hoping he saved some of the money, because the name has become a bankrupt institution.

The writer-director’s latest fall from grace, The Garbage Monster, which I have not seen, is clearly/likely intended as a modern comedic spin on the same Vietnam-era protest puppetry Knight may have helped popularize. Instead, what Knight delivers is another in a long line of recent works so wrought with heavy handed irony and obscure humor that the bigger message, if there even is one, can never fully complete its journey from puppet to audience. Especially this audience, because I didn’t see the thing.

By his mid-twenties, wiry framed visionary Tom Knight was being mentioned among the most respected and outspoken politico-puppeteers of his time. I bet.

The story takes place in an undefined city, possibly modern day Ithaca, which according to Knight’s narrator is wracked with wastefulness and void of the so-called “environmentally conscious thinking” that Knight so liberally substitutes for global responsibility, I assume. Our hero is Billy, or something - a spry, purple-haired young man struggling to cope with the pressures of this world as he searches for his place in it. Fair enough it seems, until one day he happens upon and subsequently befriends a talking pile of non-recycled Trash. What follows may only be presumptuously described as a thinly veiled attempt to blur the lines between truth and tree-hugging propaganda. Unfortunately for Knight, his left-leaning soapbox collapses under the weight of its own cliché. At least, I’m pretty sure it does.

Here’s where having seen the show would really have helped, because the story could go any number of ways at this point. Presumably, Billy’s garbage pail pal convinces the boy to start a local recycling program, ironically sealing the Monster’s own Christ-like fate. Or, maybe the Monster is bad, wants to take over the world with garbage, and Billy conquers him with the afore-assumed recycling plan. That’s probably it in fact. That seems more right.

Possibly thanks to Knight, the whimsical world of puppets was once as fresh and promising as his now-dwindling following.

In any case, the piece doesn’t work. Tragically, those same themes that probably once helped shape an entire puppet genre are here overshadowed by Knight’s distracting narrative devices and masturbatory musical numbers. (At one point, I'm imagining the production screeches to an uncomfortable halt as Knight takes a 9-minute percussion solo on a discarded detergent bottle.) The predictable result is a production that undermines itself from the inside out, reducing an already overambitious script to little more than a Pre-K talent show routine. But with puppets, I’m guessing.

Even a sterling cast, complemented by the usually reliable Allie Alligator (whose soul-wrenching turn in 1978's all-puppet revue of Cervantes’ Don Quixote not only resurrected a career, but literally redefined a medium) labors to unearth emotion in Knight’s awkwardly stylized dialogue. His search for motivation repeatedly comes up empty, leaving Alligator to passively sleepwalk through the whole affair in a confused and druggy haze that, frankly, I’m glad I missed.

Another overwritten scene I thank God for having missed. (Seriously, anyone know if I can be sued for this?)

Other performers merely add to the list of casualties left in Knight’s self-absorbed wake. Fresh off a long overdue Handie nomination for Best Female Puppet in a Musical, Mama Elephant manages to breathe a needed snoutful of life into an otherwise dull character. But by the third act, even her enormous stage presence cannot overcome the energy-sapping soullessness of Knight’s stiff-penned study, which I didn’t even know existed until I Googled “Puppet Shows” earlier.

The Garbage Monster proves with inarguable, presupposed finality that it’s time for Tom Knight to hang up his puppets forever. When the tiny curtain finally falls on this self-loathing disaster, one can’t help but leave the library and/or publicly funded community venue haunted by the disappointment of having just watched Orson Welles deliver a half-hour-long fart joke. But, one can only assume, with puppets.

Make with the clicking to read the Review of a Puppet Show I Have Not Seen Disclaimer

Cruel to Be Cruel

2008-04-21T12:56:00.004-05:00

Part I of the heavily accented American Squirm Series

In honor of tonight's Nick Lowe Nashville show (which I'm missing) and tomorrow's Elvis Costello Memphis show (which I ain't missing), I've agreed to break my longstanding No YouTube Policy to offer you this gem. It's totally worth it.

Logical Follow-Ups to Molly Hatchet's Flirtin' with Disaster

2008-04-14T16:40:00.007-05:00

Part IV of the inexplicably catchy Stereo Yeah-Yeah Series

Makin’ Eyes from Across the Bar at Disaster

Askin’ the Waitress if She Knows Disaster

Sendin’ a Couple of Rum & Cokes Over to Disaster and Her Friend

Gettin’ Invited to Come Over and Sit with Disaster

Askin’ Disaster If She Comes Here Often

Tellin’ Disaster How Much More Awesome This Place Used to Be

Spillin’ a Glass Candle Holder Full of Hot Wax on Disaster

Aplogizin’ Profusely, But Only Makin’ Things Worse with Disaster

Sittin’ In Awkward Silence with Disaster

Feelin’ Like Things Are Cool Enough Again to Ask For a Phone Number from Disaster

Bein’ Told by Disaster That She Just Got out of a Three-Year Relationship

Tellin’ Disaster It Doesn’t Have to Be a Date, the Two of You Could "Just Sort of Hang Out and See Where It Goes”

Pickin’ Up On a Distinctly Uninterested Vibe from Disaster

Ignorin’ the Hint and Blatantly Hittin’ On Disaster

Takin’ the Suggestive Innuendo Way Too Far with Disaster

Gettin’ a Draft Beer Thrown in Your Face by Disaster

Flirtin’ with Calamity

Paraphrased 1970’s AOR Lyrics that Make Good Subject Lines for Intra-Office, Out-of-Town Reminder Emails

2008-04-09T12:30:00.006-05:00

Part III of the inexplicably catchy Stereo Yeah-Yeah Series

From: Geddy
To: All Employees
Subject: Call me the working man. (Except while I'm in Destin June 23-28.)

From: Robert
To: All Employees
Subject: Packing my bags for the Misty Mountain Leadership Conference. No email.

From: Todd
To: All Employees
Subject: Think of me. You know that I’d be with you if I didn’t have to fly to Sacramento for the Mitchell Presentation.

From: Glen
To: All Employees
Subject: Take it easy next week. God knows I won't be able to at the fucking Albany office.

From: Albert
To: All Employees
Subject: It never rains at the Southern California Paper Millers Convention, though with my luck, it probably will all next week.

From: Ronnie
To: All Employees
Subject: Tuesday’s gone… Three more days til the Boca Raton Industrial Plastics Expo

From: Greg
To: All Employees
Subject: Reminder - Southbound

Even in the Out-of-Doors, I Clog for Thee

2008-03-18T18:29:00.017-05:00

Part II of the scientifically implausible Blogger on the Rove Series

Again this week there's been little time for clog genius, but i got a new phone, which lets of send longer texts, which is nice. I suppose i could bring the laptop outside, but the phone seems cooler, and it hurts my eyes more. Romance.

Timeless oaks canopy The Sloganeerist's midtown meditation and texting garden.

In another story that could only seem related on a 2-inch screen, my daughter taught me how to use T9 this weekend, though i'm still getting the gang of it. Sometimes words get a little mixed up and you don't notice until too late. It.S kinda like typing, only woefully inaccurate and. More confusing.

So ahoy then. Good non-Pullman-related stuff is on tap for next week, as is a much needed vacation. Christ, this thing really does let you type forever. Also, 'Christ" is in the dictionary. Christ.

Hasten to read the Blogger on the Rove Disclaimer

Bill Pullman Tries to Remember Who He Is

2008-03-12T17:09:00.004-05:00

Part I of the vaguely familiar Bill Pullman Series

Bill Pullman: God, this is so annoying. I do this every time. I was just thinking of me like three days ago. Uhghm. Am I in a lot of stuff, or…?

Bill Pullman: Yes, for Christ’s sake, you’re in everything. Seriously, you’ve seen you in like fifty things.

Bill Pullman: Like what? Name something.

Bill Pullman: Okay, uh… What was that thing you did? Argh…

Bill Pullman: Was I in Dumb and Dumber?

Bill Pullman: No, no, you’re thinking of Jeff Daniels.

Bill Pullman: Jeff Daniels, right. I think I used to get us mixed up.

Bill Pullman: You’re kind of like him, but more serious. Generally speaking.

Bill Pullman: Like Jeff Daniels, but more serious…

Bill Pullman: Generally speaking.

Bill Pullman: So, you said I’m in like fifty things…

Bill Pullman: I know, I just can’t… oh, wait, you were in Sleepless in Seattle.

Bill Pullman: That was Tom Hanks.

Bill Pullman: No, not Tom Hanks. The other guy.

Bill Pullman: Other guy…

Bill Pullman: The other guy. The guy who isn’t Tom Hanks.

Bill Pullman: I’m familiar with the phrase “other guy.” I just don’t remember the other guy.

Bill Pullman: Dude, you’re in everything.

Bill Pullman: You keep saying that…

Bill Pullman: Sommersby?

Bill Pullman: I don’t even... What is that?

Bill Pullman: Richard Gere? Jodie Foster?

Bill Pullman: Ew. And me? Jesus.

Bill Pullman: Yeah, best you forget that one. Hm… Oh, oh, Zero Effect.

Bill Pullman: Oooooohhhh, yeah. With Ben Stiller…

Bill Pullman: Right, yeah. You were like the main guy.

Bill Pullman: Yeah. I don’t think that was me.

Bill Pullman: It was you.

Bill Pullman: No, no, I wasn’t in that. I‘d remember working with Stiller.

Bill Pullman: Then you should remember this, because you were in it.

Bill Pullman: Nnnnno, I don’t think so.

Bill Pullman: You were.

Bill Pullman: That was Bill Paxton. You’re thinking of Bill Paxton.

Bill Pullman: It wasn’t Bill Paxton. It was Bill Pullman. It was you. Bill Pullman.

Bill Pullman: Yeah, I just can’t place me in that.

Bill Pullman: Jesus. Igby Goes Down?

Bill Pullman: Never saw the film.

Bill Pullman: You should. It’s really not bad.

Bill Pullman: Yeah? You’re like the second person who’s said that this week.

Bill Pullman: Yeah, sort of a weird, coming-of-age thing. Edgy.

Bill Pullman: Huh. I’ll throw that in the Netflix. What’s it called?

Bill Pullman: Igby Goes Down. You’d like it.

Bill Pullman: I’ll check that out.

Bill Pullman: Hey, weren’t you in The Grudge?

Bill Pullman: No, I don’t really do horror.

Bill Pullman: You did. You were. You were in The Grudge.

Bill Pullman: I don’t think I was.

Bill Pullman: And yet you were.

Bill Pullman: Maybe.

Bill Pullman: What about Bottle Shock? I think you were in that.

Bill Pullman: Bottlerocket? Who was I in that?

Bill Pullman: No, Shock. Bottle Shock.

Bill Pullman: Bottle Shock? I’ve never even heard of that. Are you sure that’s a movie?

Bill Pullman: Yes, it’s a movie. Why would I make up a movie called Bottle Shock?

Bill Pullman: I didn’t mean you made it up. I just meant… Was it like straight to video or something?

Bill Pullman: I think maybe. I don’t know.

Bill Pullman: Hm. Bottlerocket, though. Great film.

Bill Pullman: Oh, I know, The Last Seduction.

Bill Pullman: Yeah, no, I haven’t seen that in years.

Bill Pullman: Well, you were in that.

Bill Pullman: Yeah, no, I haven’t seen that in, like, years.

Bill Pullman: The Favor?

Bill Pullman: The Favor? The Favor. The Favor?

Bill Pullman: Yeah. It’s pretty old.

Bill Pullman: The Favor? What was my name in it?

Bill Pullman: You know, I don’t even know. I can’t really even remember the premise.

Bill Pullman: My character, though. Who was my character?

Bill Pullman: I honestly don't remember.

Bill Pullman: Hm.

Bill Pullman: Aha, what about Malice?

Bill Pullman: Newman?

Bill Pullman: Baldwin. Newman was Absence of Malice.

Bill Pullman: Oh. What’s this one then?

Bill Pullman: Malice. Just Malice.

Bill Pullman: Malice, right. Baldwin. I was in that?

Bill Pullman: Pretty sure. Weren’t you?

Bill Pullman: With Baldwin, you said. Hm. It was a speaking part?

Bill Pullman: I assume. Baldwin had top billing. How far down that list could you have been?

Bill Pullman: I’d forgotten that. I forgot that ever even existed. Malice. Yeah. Actually… If it’s what I’m thinking of, I never even saw it.

Bill Pullman: Have you seen fucking anything?

Bill Pullman: God, this is so frustrating. I know I’ve seen me like a million times.

Bill Pullman: You totally have. I swear to God you have.

Bill Pullman: Was I in Operation Dumbo Drop?

Bill Pullman: What? No. Maybe. Wait. What is that?

Bill Pullman: I don’t know. I’ve just seen the box. Ray Liotta I think?

Bill Pullman: No, no, you weren’t in that. Not with Liotta.

Bill Pullman: Hm. Any comedies? I love comedies. Seems like I would’ve done some comedies.

Bill Pullman: Oh, oh, yeah. Guess what? You were in Spaceballs.

Bill Pullman: Spaceballs...

Bill Pullman: Don’t tell me you don’t remember Spaceballs. It’s a classic. Mel Brooks, John Candy, Rick Moranis…

Bill Pullman: You mean Ghostbusters?

Bill Pullman: No, I don’t mean fucking Ghostbusters. Spaceballs. The Star Wars parody thing? You were like the main hero guy. Joan Rivers, Dick Van Patten…

Bill Pullman: I thought you said it was a comedy?

Bill Pullman: Screw it. I’m just gonna IMDB it.

Bill Pullman: No, no, don’t. That’s cheating. I’ll get it.

Bill Pullman: Ughmhm.

Bill Pullman: Oh, I know. Was I in that remake of Hogan’s Heroes?

Bill Pullman: The film version?

Bill Pullman: Yeah, yeah, the film version…

Bill Pullman: No, they never made that. That never got made.

Bill Pullman: It didn’t?

Bill Pullman: No. It was just a Hollywood rumor, I think.

Bill Pullman: Wow. Are you sure?

Bill Pullman: I’m positive. We’ll look it up after you think of you.

Bill Pullman: I can’t believe they never made that. I would’ve been in that.

Bill Pullman: You definitely would have.

Bill Pullman: Was I in Who Framed Roger Rabbit?

Bill Pullman: I know it seems like it, but no.

Bill Pullman: Hm. What about Scrooged? God, I love that movie.

Bill Pullman: Yeah, I know you do. You know how I know?

Bill Pullman: Because it’s awesome?

Bill Pullman: Because we watched it last night.

Bill Pullman: Oh, right.

Bill Pullman: Yeah.

Bill Pullman …

Bill Pullman: …

Bill Pullman: Was I in it?

Bill Pullman: Did you see you in it?

Bill Pullman: No.

Bill Pullman: Well, then I guess you weren’t fucking in it, were you?

Bill Pullman: Shit. Well, what else was I in then? You name some.

Bill Pullman: I don’t know.

Bill Pullman: Well, think.

Bill Pullman: I have been thinking. I’ve named like ten things. You haven’t named anything.

Bill Pullman: Yes I have. I said Operation Dumbo Drop.

Bill Pullman: Right. But see, you’re just saying random movies. I’m saying things you’ve actually appeared in.

Bill Pullman: You don’t have to be a dick.

Bill Pullman: Oh, you know what? Lost Highway. I can’t believe I forgot that. You were in Lost Highway.

Bill Pullman: Hmmm. Lost Highway. Hmmm. Is that…?

Bill Pullman: Oh, come on. You totally know this one. I remember how excited you were.

Bill Pullman: Lost Highway you said? Lost Highway?

Bill Pullman: Lost Highway.

Bill Pullman: Lost Highway? The David Lynch?

Bill Pullman: Lynch, yes. Yes. You were all in that. Big role. Great role. That was you. The guy in Lost Highway. You were him.

Bill Pullman: With Chazz Palminteri?

Bill Pullman: What?

Bill Pullman: Chazz Palminteri. And maybe Nolte, I’m thinking…

Bill Pullman: That's Mulholland Falls.

Bill Pullman: No…

Bill Pullman: Yes, it is. It’s not even David Lynch.

Bill Pullman: Mulholland what?

Bill Pullman: Mulholland Falls. You have Mulholland Falls confused with Mulholland Drive, which is Lynch.

Bill Pullman: Mulhollhand Drive…

Bill Pullman: Neither of which is Lost Highway, fyi.

Bill Pullman: Hm. Was Chazz Palminteri in it?

Bill Pullman: No, Chazz fucking Palminteri wasn’t in it. Are you high?

Bill Pullman: Have I been in anything with Chazz Palminteri?

Bill Pullman: Stop saying Chazz Palminteri.

Bill Pullman: I just want to know if I’ve worked with him. It might jog my memory.

Bill Pullman: You know, surprisingly, I want to say no. You have never worked with Chazz Palminteri. Stunning, I know.

Bill Pullman: Hm. What about Shandling?

Bill Pullman: Gary Shandling? Where did that even come from?

Bill Pullman: I’m just naming people I might have worked with.

Bill Pullman: I realize that. But Gary Shandling?

Bill Pullman: Kevin Spacey?

Bill Pullman: You know what you’re doing, right? You’re just naming the entire cast of Hurley Burley.

Bill Pullman: From what?

Bill Pullman: Hurley Burley.

Bill Pullman: What’s that?

Bill Pullman: The Mamet thing? No, wait, David Rabe. It was David Rabe. Chazz Palminteri, Gary Shandling, Spacey, all those guys were in Hurley Burley.

Bill Pullman: Hm. Was it good?

Bill Pullman: Not really, no.

Bill Pullman: Hm. Was I in it?

Bill Pullman: Why the fuck would you ask me that?

Bill Pullman: Yeah, I guess not.

END PART I

Read It and Squint

2008-03-09T13:33:00.006-05:00

The Sloganeerist was proud to be a part of this year's Addy Best of Show. It also helps, hopefully, to explain his total lack of interesting content on this blog lately. He'll be back, though. Oh yes, he'll be back. And in greater numbers.

Improbable Sequels

2008-03-03T21:00:00.004-06:00

Part III of the geekly spaztastic Movie Madness Series

Another One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Man
That Was Apocalypse Then, This Is Apocalypse Now
Mo, Mo Better Blues
The Man Who Would Probably Still Be King
12 Monkeys and an Additional Monkey
The Post-Graduate
Do the Right Thing This Time
Catch-23
Five Slightly More Difficult Pieces
Buffalo 66, Syracuse 63

Unofficial Track Listing:“A Very Guided By Voices Christmas”

2008-02-14T09:00:00.004-06:00

Part II (already?) of the inexplicably catchy Stereo Yeah-Yeah Series

1. God Rest Ye Eskimo Knife Boundaries, 2:38
2. I’ll Be Home For Slithering Alcohol Pilots, 2:52
3. Frosty the Telephone Indian, 1:36
4. Deck the Motorcycle Science Nest, 3:12
5. O Little Town of Beneficial Witherings, 1:18
6. Hark, the Armored Robot Jar 2:39
7. Maj. Ghost Heart the Red-Nosed Diving Board, 2:33
8. Have Yourself A Painted Cracker/Wasp, 1:41
9. Santa Claus Is Coming to Town (Lizard Privileges Version), 3.05
10. Jingle Leg, :22

It's Actually Like a Blog Entry or Something

2008-02-09T11:50:00.001-06:00

Part I of the cleverly disguised Somebody Else's Crap Series

While I'm not normally one to revert to the, er, norm, it's been Navy-ship-busy at the office and I'm actually working from home some this weekend, so I don't really have time for the usual Sloganeerist drivel. (Yes, wise ass. That stuff does take time.)

On the upside, it gives me a chance to break form and share one of the simplest, coolest and most artistically campaignable ideas I’ve seen in ages. From me mateys at Little Rock cool factory Lucky Dog Audio Post and backroom Boondog Sellout Music, comes Sleeve Faces, currently in sole possession of first place atop my own personal “Jesus, I Wish I’d Thought of That” list, just ahead of the birch-bark canoe and prison acid.

The whole concept is just so frustratingly brilliant. Okay, maybe they ain't the first blokes to hold records in front of their faces and take pictures. But there's something distinctly less frat-goofish about this take. It’s at once hilarious and eerily beautiful. And I don't just throw around words like "eerily" very often. In 15 days it’s become so popular they might never have to post a new blog entry again. (Yeah. How do you like that, Grand Theft Auto cheat codes post?)

On a recent working trip to The Rock (trust me, they love it when you call it that), the Lucky Dogs and Sellouts were even cool enough to let me in on the action. So who do they honor me with? Check it, bitches...

The Sloganeerist. It's a wonder that he still knows how to breathe.

Marvel at the rest of the genius here. (The Wilson Pickett. Sweet lord, the Wilson Pickett.)

Jeff Tweedy’s Rapsheet

2008-02-07T21:55:00.000-06:00

Part I of the inexplicably catchy Stereo Yeah-Yeah Series

Third-Degree Aquarium Consumption
Attempted Heartbreaking (Guilty Plea)
Suspicious Downward Avenue Assassination
Purchase of Controlled Substance Via Handshake in Downtown Precinct
Unlawful Pot Kettle Black Calling
Conspiracy to Perform Kiss Songs While Intoxicated
Wishful Thinking

Super Bowl XLII Player Props Not Drawing Tons of Late Action

2008-02-02T12:14:00.000-06:00

Part I of the very hush-hush I Sometimes Gamble Illegally Series
plus, additionally,
Part II of the barely eked-out Athletic Supporter Series

First special teamer to put helmet on and stand uncomfortably close to head coach as if to remind him of that Bucs game like four years ago when he played in the dime package and intercepted a late Brad Johnson Hail Mary:
Raymond Ventrone, 9-2
Mel Mitchell, 5-1
Larry Izzo, 3-1

First receiver to be found wandering alley behind Denny’s near Ft. Worth Meacham Airport, semi-conscious and covered in brake fluid:
Plaxico Burress, 45-1
Donte Stallworth, 30-1
Jeremy Shockey, 3-2

First player to release platinum-selling indie concept album of traditional coalmining songs, then perish in questionably accidental bowhunting incident while recording overhyped major-label follow-up:
Lonie Paxton, 25-1
R.W. McQuarters, 18-1
Jeff Feagles, EVEN

First player mentioned at the end of inevitable Super Bowl Party sentence, “Sweet Mother of Christ, I thought he retired sixteen seasons ago.”
Troy Brown, 12-1
Amani Toomer, 3-1
Junior Seau, 2-1

First player identified as suspect exiting Orangutan Canyon on Phoenix Zoo security videos, later arrested outside Tempe-area apartment complex for what authorities will only describe as “unlawful use of a reed instrument.”
Reuben Droughns, 50-1
Wes Welker, 30-1
Lawrence Tynes, 17-3
Kyle Brady, 7-1

First player mentioned by commentator that actually makes your wife look up from her precious perezhilton.com and say, “What?" *
Le Kevin Smith, 45-5
Grey Ruegamer, 35-1
Guy Whimper, 22-1
Madison Hedgecock, 5-4

First player to eat Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers.
Jared Lorenzen, 1-450
Other, 450-1

*No parlays or teasers

Turns Out I Am Actually Some Kind of Technological Genius

2008-01-28T18:13:00.002-06:00

Part I of the scientifically implausible Blogger on The Rove Series

i sent this straight from phone 2 blog. if it works i may be some kinda genius..

Here is where you'll read the Blogger on the Rove Disclaimer

Modernized Dialogue for Remakes of Teen Films that Will Never Be Remade

2008-01-24T14:27:00.000-06:00

Part I of the longingly reminiscent Class of '89 Series
plus, also,
Part II of the geekily spaztastic Movie Madness Series

Fast Times at Ridgemont High
Jefferson’s Brother: My brother’s gonna shit!
Spicoli: Make up your mind, dude. Is he gonna shit? Or is he gonna kill us?
Jefferson’s Brother: First he’s gonna shit, then he’s gonna kill us!
Spicoli: Relax, alright? My old man is an Independently Contracted Systems Architect for a multinational IT outsourcing company. He’s got this ultimate set of custom analytical software applications. I can fix it.
Jefferson’s Brother: You can’t fix this car, Spicoli!
Spicoli: I can fix it.

Sixteen Candles
Jake: (HOLDS UP PANTIES) You let me keep these, I'll let you take Caroline home. But you've got to make sure she gets home. You can't leave her in a parking lot somewhere. Okay?
The Geek: Jake, I'm only a freshman.
Jake: So? She's so blitzed she won't know the difference.
The Geek: Jake, I don't have a car.
Jake: You can take mine.
The Geek: Jake, I don't have license.
Jake: I trust you.
The Geek: Jake, I’d love to… I can’t.
Jake: Oh. Well, I guess we better come up with another plan then, which is probably best anyway considering my parents would likely frown upon my loaning out a $60,000 vehicle to someone who’s not only unlicensed, but also uninsured.

The Outsiders
Johnny: It's like the mist is what's pretty, you know? All gold and silver.
Ponyboy: Hmm…
Johnny: Too bad it can't stay like that all the time.
Ponyboy: Nothing gold can stay.
Johnny: Yeah, somebody else forwarded me that email.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off
Mr. Rooney: Are you also aware, Mrs. Bueller, that Ferris does not have what we consider to be an exemplary attendance record?
Katie Bueller: I don't understand.
Mr. Rooney: He has missed an unacceptable number of school days. In the opinion of this educator, Ferris is not taking his academic growth seriously.
Katie Bueller: This is all news to me.
Mr. Rooney: Well, perhaps you should log-in to our school parent/administrator site more often, where you can quickly and easily sync your PC calendar to reflect all of Ferris’ assignments, attendance records and school activities.
Katie Bueller: I tried, but I kept getting a postscript error.

The Breakfast Club
Principal Vernon: Well, well. Here we are. You have exactly eight hours and fifty-four minutes to think about why you're here. You may not talk. You will not move from these seats. Any questions?
Bender: Yeah. Does that guy from Maroon 5 know you raid his wardrobe?

Notes From Caroline the Dog

2008-01-19T19:27:00.001-06:00

Part I of the annoyingly yappy Two Dogs, One House Series

Dear Human Parent-Figures,
Let me tell you some things about Buddy the Dog, because frankly, there are some things you need to fucking know, and I'm tired of waiting for you to figure them out on your own. I don't know why I didn't say something sooner. Maybe I naively told myself that you were smart people, and that you couldn't possibly remain blind to all the things I see and live every day. But it's pretty clear I'm fooling myself. The truth is you see what you want to see. And while I suppose that's nice and comforting for you, I, for one, am tired of living the lie. You need to wake up, and if this somewhat less-than-subtle note is what it takes, well, so be it. Because I’m through.

First, let's get one thing straight. Buddy is not stupid. Oh, sure, he acts like it. And no doubt he's plenty content to let you go on believing it, ad fucking infinitum. Little wonder why...

Poor Buddy. He’s so dumb. Look at him chewing up my only decent pair of dress slacks.

Well now, Mr. Boo-Boo Pants tore right through the garbage and covered the kitchen floor with week-old tuna salad.

Awww, looooook. He knocked over my rack of pretentiously displayed DVDs and destroyed the box to my Royal Tenenbaums Collector’s Edition. That’s right, sweetiebear likes Wes Anderson, don’t you?

Anyone see a pattern forming? I mean, Jesus, seriously, who’s the stupid one here?

"Cuddliness" doesn't get stains out of bathmats.

Here’s a little test. Ask Buddy pointblank if he’s a good boy. Go ahead. I mean really ask him. Now, watch the eyes. You see? You see that? Can't even look at you. Because Buddy the Dog is not a liar. Yes, Buddy the Dog is a lot of things. A water-bowl-hogging, squeaky-raccoon-hiding, card-cheating asshole, for example. But he’s no liar.

Let me tell you something else about Buddy the Dog, lest you be laboring under the misapprehension that he likes that fucking cat. Fact: He hates that cat. All that “hilarious” and "playful" wrestling? Complete show. Look, I’m not being hypocritical on this. I realize the cat and I have tied ass more than once. Sure, we have our differences of opinion, especially with regard to the brown pillow. And yes, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still harbor some bitterness over that whole detached retina thing. But at least I’m up front about it. The truth is that when the two of you are off doing, well, whatever the fuck it is you do all day, the good-natured tussling isn’t so good-natured.

Remember last Thursday? You came home and couldn’t find the cat for over four hours? Ask yourself one question. How does a cat scale the side of a six-foot stainless fridge, open the freezer door, climb inside, close the door behind itself, and somehow manage to tape a sandwich bag of frozen asparagus over its head -- all while its paws are bound together with yarn? Better yet, ask yourself why a cat would do this. Looking for Pizza Rolls? Just needed to freeze some shit and got turned around in the dark? Is any of this starting to come together at all?

Sure, I’ll say it. I’ve flirted with leaving. In a recent, pissier moment, I folded up my sweaters and headed for the door. But after what seemed like hours of pointless scratching and clawing in a futile attempt to get it open, I stopped myself. I did. I stopped myself and I said, You know what? No. I’m not doing this. This is my house too, and I’ll be damned if some stray is going to drive me out of my house.

Pictured: The Frisbee-playing area. Perhaps you remember it.

So here we are. But I’ll say this, this needs to get resolved somehow this week. This used to be a good... no, a great place to live. But ever since Buddy the Dog came along, I’m just not feeling it. I’ve talked myself into staying once. I don’t have the strength to do it again.

If you want to see me, talk, whatever, I’ll be under the covers in the back downstairs bedroom. Just do me a solid and don’t grab the covers? You know it freaks me out. And if I were you, I would seriously consider bringing fucking treats.

- Caroline the Dog

Aside From Always Riding Single-File to Hide Their Numbers, Other Things You Need to Know About Sandpeople

2008-01-15T19:34:00.000-06:00

Part I of the geekily spaztastic Movie Madness Series

Always ask for extra napkins
Always forget to box out on free throws
Always put empty juice carton back in fridge
Always way overpack for weekend trips
Always bring Natural Light to parties, end up somehow drinking Heineken
Always leave during 7th inning
Always keep leftover soy sauce packets in ceramic pig over stove
Always use an Improved Clinch Knot when a simple Clinch Knot will do
Always argue over who gets to be the Banta in Space Monopoly
Always get blue cheese on the side

Strikes That Would Be Way Easier to Deal With Than the Writers’ Strike

2008-01-13T11:08:00.000-06:00

Part I of the lazily cobbled Watchful Eye Series

The Gaffers’ Strike
The Trombonists’ Strike
The Chili’s Bartenders’ Strike
The People Who Use Their Cell Phones on Elevators Strike
The Pipe-Smoking Anthropology Professors' Strike
The Retired Athlete Color Commentators’ Strike
The Baristas' Strike*
The Guy Who Goes Door-to-Door Asking to Rake Your Leaves Strike
The Re-writers' Strike
The Damon Stoudamire Strike
The American Dad Writers’ Strike

*Not true

Underutilized Cheat Codes for Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas

2008-01-09T13:07:00.000-06:00

Part I of the skillfully tapped-out Gaming Mania! Series

Never Allergic
R2, R1, R2, UP, DOWN, L1, UP, UP, L1, DOWN, UP, L1

Unlimited Interest Feigning
L1, R1, UP, R2, L1, UP, UP, L1, DOWN, R2, UP, DOWN

New Weapon: Hat Rack
DOWN, L1, R1, R1, DOWN, DOWN, UP, DOWN, R2, L2

Self-Deprecation Boost
R1, R2, R2, L1, L1, UP, UP, L1, DOWN, UP, UP, DOWN

Disable Lethargy
L2, L1, L2, DOWN, UP, UP, DOWN, R1, R2, UP

Automatic Prescription Refill
UP, UP, UP, R1, R2, L2, L2, DOWN, R2, DOWN

Unlimited Reluctance
UP, L1, DOWN, UP, UP, DOWN, R1, R2, R2, L1, L1, UP

Coaches Kevin and Frank Address Their 12 & Under Softball Team After a Particularly Deflating Loss

2008-01-05T12:30:00.001-06:00

Part I of the barely eked-out Athletic Supporter Series

Coach Kevin: Let’s get our trash. Let’s get our trash out of the dugout and grab a seat out here. Whose blue Powerade? Whose glove is this? Let’s get it out. Come on. Okay, listen up. Let’s everybody get in here because I want to say something. Jordan, put the bag down and take a seat. Shelby, Taylor M., Taylor D., set the cooler down and get in here. Just set it down. I have to be honest, I’m getting tired of sugarcoating… just put it over there by the fence then. Over there. I honestly am tired of sugarcoating it for you girls. Now we played a good game out there today. It wasn’t our best game, but it was a good game. Now, that said, I don’t know what we have to do to get you to stop making the same mistakes. And that’s what it is. It’s the same… Lindsey, get in here because you need to hear this too. This is about all of us. It’s the same mistakes over and over. Not backing people up. Not being where you’re supposed to be. Not knowing how many outs there are. That kind of stuff.

Coach Frank: Not knowing what base to throw to.

Coach Kevin: Not knowing what base to throw to, I would echo that. Not realizing when it’s a force play. Not talking to each other. These sortsa things. Forgetting to take your glove with you into the field. That's a big one. Not tagging up on fly balls. I realize we didn’t have any fly balls today, or anyone actually on base at all, but that’s not an excuse. You have to be ready. I did not switch to night shifts at the store so I could spend my days coaching a bunch of girls who don’t listen and aren’t ready to play ball. We’ve said it all year. Not knowing whose turn to bat it is. In some cases, not even bringing a bat to the game at all. These are things we’ve talked about. This is why we practice. Not hitting the cutoff man. Not having a cutoff man. Not running on strike three. Kelsey, you forgot to run on strike-three four times today. Four times. Now what if that catcher had dropped that ball? Huh? But hey, Kelsey, you played a good game. Okay? How's your eye, anyway? Yeah. That's normal for awhile. That'll go down in a couple days. High five. But listen ladies, we have worked on these things. Missing signs. We have two signs. Two. Stomach is bunt. Nose is take. Everything else is swing away. Does anyone not get that? Why is this hard? It’s okay. Don’t get down on yourselves. We did some good things out there. That's a good team over there, and we hung right with them. Taylor P., that play you almost made?

Coach Frank: That was awesome.

Coach Kevin: That was awesome. High five. We just need to remember to do what? What should you have done? I mean if you had fielded it? Take that ball to first base, right? I don’t know. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m being too easy on you girls. Maybe we just need to make people run. Is that what we need? To make people run? No? Are y'all sure? Well then, I don’t know. I just don’t know what else to do. Here’s the thing: Little mistakes add up to big mistakes. And that’s the truth. Parents? Is that the truth? That’s right. Y’all remember Coach Donnie? The first time Coach Donnie got a DUI? Was that a big mistake? No. It was no big deal. Then he got a couple more, and a couple more, and a couple more, and now what? Pretty soon he’s looking at a suspended license. Now that mistake is starting to loom large, isn’t it? It’s starting to grow from all those eleven or twelve little mistakes. Ask Coach Donnie about little mistakes. I think I have his email if anyone wants it.

Coach Frank: Remind me to get that from you.

Coach Kevin: But he wouldn’t stand for all these mistakes, I can tell you that right now. Little mistakes. They may seem small. But they aren't. They’re huge. That's really the whole lesson. But hey, listen. We’re getting better every game. It's not like this was a 27-0 game. Not in the least. I know the scoreboard says 27-0, and as soon as the opposing parents are done taking pictures of it, Coach Frank is gonna head over there and see about getting them to turn that off. But for now, I don’t care what that scoreboard says. This was not a 27-0 game. We played much better than that. I really saw some improvement out there today. I saw some hustle and I saw some girls making some plays. But I also saw some girls making some mistakes. Mistakes and mental errors. Those are the kind that don't show up on the scoreboard. Mental errors. Not paying attention to the count. Not knowing what position you're playing before you go on the field. Not catching the ball. Actually that's a regular error, but they all add up. I don't know what to tell you girls anymore. I've run out of excuses. There are no excuses. Now I realize that umpire had a pretty inconsistent strikezone.

Coach Frank: He wasn't calling it both ways.

Coach Kevin: He wasn't calling it both ways. You have got to call it both ways. But Laura, you overcame that and pitched a great game. As far as I'm concerned, there were two perfect games pitched on that field today. That was a tight strikezone and you adjusted and you overcame and that’s why I’m gonna give you this right here.

Coach Frank: Game ball.

Coach Kevin: Game ball goes to Laura. (Applause) We'll put that on the shelf with your other ones when we get home tonight. Alright, let’s get everybody up. “Lady Minutemen” on three… One, two….

Do Not Purchase This Brand of Nasal Strips

2008-01-03T09:55:00.001-06:00

Part I of the laudably unbiased Consumer Advocate Series

Product:
Rite Aid brand Nasal Strips

Product Claims:
"Compare to BREATHE RIGHT®"
"Flex-Fabric for Better Comfort & Fit"
"Gently Opens Nasal Passages"
"Improves Nasal Breathing"
"Relieves Nasal Congestion"
"Improved Design"

Trial Summary:
10:41pm: Feeling a little tired and kind of stuffy, Subject opens box of Rite Aid brand Nasal Strips. Mentally comparing Rite Aid brand Nasal Strips to BREATHE RIGHT® Strips, Subject notes numerous striking dissimilarities, including, but not limited to: Color, Size, Material, Odor, Presentation and Shape.

10:43pm: Subject peels one non-individually wrapped Rite Aid brand Nasal Strip from unwieldy, accordion-style, white paper backing and applies to nasal housing as directed. Within moments, Nasal Strip begins to lose adhesive qualities, flaring at both ends in a comical, wing-like manner. (Elapsed time from Strip adherence until loss of adhesive qualities is unclear, but is estimated at approximately one second.)

10:44pm: Subject compensates by pressing Nasal Strip back down onto nose. To no avail.

10:45pm: Subject removes and discards Nasal Strip, washes natural man oils from nose, and applies a fresh Strip. Left side of Nasal Strip (Nostril-A) instantly loses adhesive qualities. Right side remains in contact with nose. Deeming this a success, Subject ambles off to bed.

10:58pm - 7:18am: No data.

7:19am: Subject awakens. Nostril-A is found to be clear of debris with normal to excellent breathing function. Nostril-B is found to be fouled and clogged with substance Subject can only assume is either excess mucous, or possibly some type of English pudding. Rite Aid brand Nasal Strip has vanished.

Product Claims Determined to Be False:
"Compare to BREATHE RIGHT®"
"Flex-Fabric for Better Comfort & Fit"
"Gently Opens Nasal Passages"
"Improves Nasal Breathing"
"Relieves Nasal Congestion"

Product Claims of Indeterminate Accuracy:
"Improved Design"

Wednesday’s TV Highlights for River Outfitters

2008-01-02T18:24:00.001-06:00

Part I of the finely dressed American Sportsman Series

6:00 – Touched by an Angel
Monica must help a recently orphaned kayaker overcome his fear of eddies.

6:30 – Bonanza
When Hoss and Adam fall for the same baitshop operator, Little Joe must choose between family and an expensive new roof rack.

7:00 – M*A*S*H
Blinded by the madness of war, Hawkeye learns the hard way that some cushions are not to be used as flotation devices.

7:30 – Cops (Bolivar, TN)
Officers confront a surly, knife-wielding hermit accused of threatening local sauger fishermen.

8:00 – What's Happening?
Raj and the gang hope to keep Mama from learning the truth about her missing water sandals, but Dee threatens to tell.

8:30 – E! True Hollywood Story
Kevin Bacon.

9:00 – NYPD Blue
Sipowicz must attempt a Class IV run solo in order to save a down-and-out ex-cop trapped on the shoals.

10:00 – Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman
Sparks fly when the townspeople confront Matthew over a mysterious dent in Olive’s jonboat.

11:00 – The Cosby Show
When Theo is nabbed for poaching trout from a local hatchery, Cliff must find a punishment to fit the crime.

11:30 – My Three Sons
Ernie drowns.

You Can Totally Do It: Installing Kitchen Cabinets

2008-01-01T14:37:00.000-06:00

Part I of the expertly crafted DIY Series

Few features can increase the impressiveness of your home or condo like kitchen cabinets. And let's be honest. Those current ones in your kitchen are pretty shabby, aren't they? (Yes. Yes, they are.) But with a little design sense, heaps of spare time, and zero distracting hobbies, love interests or employment to speak of, you can turn those paint-swollen Pop-Tart cubbies into something the whole family can grow tired of hearing about. If you had a family. Which you probably don't.

What You'll Be Needing:
1. Kitchen Cabinetry
2. Six Years
3. Appropriate Tools

Steps:
Begin by selecting the kitchen cabinetry you'd like to use. It should be made of wood, and probably any kind will do. Other materials may be available. Like metal for instance. Or aluminum, which is technically just another metal. Avoid these. Also, steer clear of any cabinets made of soft plastic material like the kind used in the manufacturing of popular bass jigs. If you're considering cabinets made of tile, stone or other rock-like materials, stop. It's just too heavy and it's not going to work. Seriously, just go with the wood. Are we clear on that? Good. Actually, it doesn't have to be wood. The important thing is that it looks like wood. This will let people know that you have nothing to hide, except, of course, for all the things in your cabinets.

Fig. 1, Familiarize your mind with the intricate Language of Cabinetry.

Many of today's modern, modular-type cabinets (see Fig. 1) come in all manner of shapes, sizes and finishes, and often include many confusing, additional options like handles, latches, other handles, those turny things, and latches. Don't worry about any of this. For the first few years, the cabinets will just be sitting in your garage taking on unwanted moisture anyway, so there's no need to overthink it at this stage.

Next, we'll need to get rid of those old cabinets. Using your tools, do that. Hard.

Finally, install the new kitchen cabinets.

Like many things in life, the result will seem anticlimactic at first. Some time later, this will settle into feelings of disappointment, failure and, ultimately, regret.

Congratulations on your new cabinets.

Review of a Puppet Show I Have Not Seen: Disclaimer

2008-01-01T09:01:00.000-06:00

Part II of the legally not-required Disclaimer Series

The Sloganeerist does not know Tom Knight, has never seen this puppet show, nor any of Knight's puppet shows, nor any other puppet shows. If you know Mr. Knight (or, God forbid, if you are Mr. Knight), please don’t get angry. But do feel free to pass along my well wishes and this open invitation to produce a puppet show whose central character is a hack blogger who learns a valuable lesson about writing scathing reviews of other peoples’ work that he hasn’t seen. And if possible, I’d like to be played by a scorpion. Scorpions are awesome.

The Power of Blogger on the Rove Disclaims You

2008-01-01T09:00:00.003-06:00

Part I of the legally not-required Disclaimer Series

The Sloganeerist's (hereafter He or His) absurdly complicated Blogger on the Rove Series is photographed, composed and delivered to this blog via the author's ingeniously designed and Japanese-made "camera phone," which, for a large monthly fee whose contractual terms you cannot begin to understand, will perform all the verbs mentioned in the previous part of this sentence. The Sloganeerist also acknowledges that the verbs to which he is referring are not actually verbs, but in fact are some kind of adjectives. Maybe. Whatever kind of word you get when adding ed to the end of a verb. Something. By reading this, you acknowledge that The Sloganeerist actually does know what parts of speech he's talking about, but is, in this case, just being hilarious.

Anyway, The Sloganeerist does add some amount of what he likes to call "post-content content" to these 100%-post-content-free posts. More specifically, all titles, Part-indicative subheads, tags, photo captions, links and footnotes are added by the author after having sent the posts to this site from his cool phone (red). Still, he will never change body content, edit photos, or even correct grammatical errors. He just thought it was only right that you should know all that. So it's still pretty cool, yeah? Because the rest of that shite is straight from the phone, right? Hell yeah it is. So really, let's just focus on the techno-coolness, creative ingenuity and stuff, and not bring post-content, lying, misrepresentation or attorneys into this for once.

This part just says that you also agree how The Sloganeerist reserves the right to change the rules of what types of post-content content he can and can't add to any future Blogger on the Rove Series post, because, well, because, like, it was like his idea in the first place. And right is right.

So long story short, does Crittendon County ever NOT have a Tornado Watch? I mean, fuck.

ANSWER KEY: Was that Genesis or Straight Up Phil Collins?

2006-11-01T01:03:00.000-06:00

Perhaps most incredible?
I bet you easily thought of a half-dozen Top 40 hits missing from this list.

1.) One More Night – That was straight up Phil Collins
(Oh, yeah. It was, wasn't it.)

2.) Mama – That was Genesis
(Right, right. I can hear it now.)

3.) In the Air Tonight – That was straight up Phil Collins
(Doy.)

4.) Misunderstanding – That was Genesis
(I thought that at first, but then... hmmm.)

5.) Tonight, Tonight, Tonight – That was Genesis
(Wasn't that in a movie?)

6.) You Can’t Hurry Love – That was straight up Phil Collins
(Rutherford would have vetoed it.)

7.) Against All Odds – That was straight up Phil Collins
(That's what I was kind of thinking.)

8.) That’s All – That was Genesis
(Hard to argue.)

9.) Abacab – That was Genesis
(I only know cos I remember the t-shirt.)

10.) Another Day in Paradise – That was straight up Phil Collins
(I actually thought that was straight up Bruce Hornsby.)

11.) Land of Confusion – That was Genesis
(I remember the video, just not who was in it.)

12.) Throwing It All Away – That was Genesis
(Wow. I totally thought it was the other one.)

13.) Sussudio – That was straight up Phil Collins
(This seems wrong, but I'll go with it.)

14.) Turn It On Again – That was Genesis
(I don't even remember this song.)

15.) Easy Lover – That was straight up Phil Collins
(Who was this a duet with? Damn. Google it.)

16.) Man On the Corner – That was Genesis
(Yeah. I guess you're right.)

17.) Take Me Home – That was straight up Phil Collins
(Come on. That was a great song, right? Right?)

18.) Paperlate – That was Genesis
(Wow. I never would've remembered this song existed.)

19.) I Missed Again – That was straight up Phil Collins
(I was way off on this one.)

20.) Home By The Sea – That was Genesis
(Can you hum a few bars of this one?)

21.) (Billy) Don’t Lose My Number – That was straight up Phil Collins
(Wasn't that in a movie?)

22.) A Groovy Kind of Love – That was straight up Phil Collins
(I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.)

23.) Illegal Alien – That was Genesis
(Oh, right. Cos racism wasn't as cool after Collins went solo.)

24.) Invisible Touch – That was Genesis
(I know, it totally seems like the other one.)

25.) Two Hearts – That was straight up Phil Collins
(In retrospect, this feels correct.)

26.) In Too Deep – That was Genesis
(This has to be wrong. Look it up.)

27.) I Don’t Care Anymore – That was straight up Phil Collins
(I don't care anymore.)

Return to the Was that Genesis or Straight Up Phil Collins? post here.